Fighters, Liars, Lovers
by Pygmypigwidgeon
Summary: "I'll protect you, Clove. You know that," he murmured, running his fingers through her hair. "Liar," she spat, turning away. Cato and Clove only ever wanted to win. But what happens when their friendship in the Training Facility turns out to be something more? If their pride doesn't get in the way of their love, the Games will. What are they really fighting for?
1. Chapter 1: Spitfire

I was 7 when they let me officially start my training. Everyone else in the facility was at least 8, but not me; I wanted to win from the start. I was placed in the _Girls Under 10_ skill class, but I knew this was only temporary. The older girls hated me, hated the way I could easily dodge their heavy-handed blows, hated the praise the trainers had for my knife skills. Hated my guts. But their envy didn't bother me; I strutted around the centre like I was 6 feet tall instead of 4 foot 7, smirking at whoever crossed my path.

When I was 9, I couldn't take it anymore. I was wasting my time and talent in my skill class, with all those clumsy children who wouldn't survive a minute in the Games. I asked the trainers to let me train with the big kids. They acknowledge that I was special, but it evidently bothered them that I was small and would easily get crushed by the 11 and 12 year olds. Needless to say, I was angry.

After a month of me lashing out at whoever I was up against, I had found the solution to my problems. I had always known that the _Boys Under 10 _skill class's training centre was in the same building as the girls' in the facility. On one of my days off, I snuck into the boys' training centre out of curiosity. It fascinated me; the boys underwent an extremely rigorous training program, complete with the latest in District 2 weaponry. Every few minutes, one of them would report an injury: fractured ribs, broken noses and even impalements by arrows and spears. The trainers for my skill class limited us to knives and bows and refused to let us do any real damage to our sparring opponents. How pathetic.

And that was when I saw her: Enobaria. I knew about her, the way she could rip her opponents throats open with her teeth terrified me. She was overseeing the training, shouting orders and making degrading comments at the boys. Before I could run, she spotted me and stalked over, suddenly smiling in a way that exposed her cosmetically altered gold-tipped teeth.

"Clove," she said simply, her voice sharp and jarring. I froze, how did she know my name?

"Yes… yes, ma'am," I spluttered, finding it thoroughly unsettling to make eye contact with her.

"I've heard about you. The little girl who wants to play with the big kids." Her taunting manner made my skin crawl.

"I'm not a little girl," I replied. This was Enobaria, Games legend, I couldn't afford to let her see me as a weakling.

"Ahh, a little spitfire, aren't you?" Her eyes gleamed with fascination. "Tell me, Clove, what are you doing here?"

I knew that Enobaria wasn't an ordinary trainer. Judging by the treacherous way she trained her skill class, she didn't care for the trivial rules and regulations set by the facility.

"I want to… I want to train under you, Enobaria."

She didn't even look surprised.

"Understandable. But you see, I train boys. Are you a boy, Clove?"

"No… No, but I can fight as well as one."

Her smile widened. Wrong move, Clove.

"I see. Perhaps we can test that theory." Her gaze swept over the training centre, appraising each of her students. "Cato! Come over here for a moment."

A muscular and tall blonde boy wielding a lethal-looking spear strode over, confidence emanating from his every movement. The other boys stopped for a second to watch, their expressions a mix of admiration and curiosity. I registered almost immediately that this boy was probably at the top of his skill class.

Some of the boys seemed to notice my presence for the first time, and started to stare, no doubt wondering what my purpose was in their centre. Cato, on the other hand, paid me no heed and addressed Enobaria directly.

"Yes, Enobaria?"

His voice was low for his age, and carried a distinct quality: Arrogance.

"Put away your spear, Cato. Do you not see we have a visitor?"

Cato turned to me and glanced at me for the first time. It was disconcerting to feel his gaze travelling over my body, sending pinpricks down my spine. I fought to control my breathing.

"She doesn't belong here," he said quietly. It was less of a statement than a question. _What is a _girl_ doing in our training sessions? _

"You will do well to treat others with courtesy, child. Clove here wants to join our little group. What do you think?"

His gaze met mine for a brief moment before returning to Enobaria's.

"She looks weak."

He said it quietly, but I knew it was meant for my ears too. Anger surged inside me and I suppressed the urge to punch his teeth out. I may have been small, but I was stronger than kids twice my size.

"Does she? Tell you what, Clove," she turned to me, her smile evolving into a malicious grin, "If you can take down Cato in hand-to-hand fight, I'll _make_ _sure_ you have a place with me."

Comprehension dawned on me. This was what Enobaria was planning from the start. Nothing like a match between a little girl and her best fighter to spice up her day. But I was no quitter; Cato would pay for underestimating me.

"I'll do it."

I could tell Cato was slightly taken aback; perhaps he was starting to suspect that I was not all I appeared to be.

Enobaria led us to the sparring ring. It was a simple rectangular circle drawn onto the floor of the centre marked by sharp white lines. To win a spot as Enobaria's pupil, I only had to knock Cato out of the ring.

We stood on opposite ends of the ring. By then, everyone in the skill class had realized what was going on and gathered around us to witness the spectacle. As per my training, I studied my opponent.

_Focus, Clove. His strength is definitely in his size. His arms carry the bulk of the muscle, probably more of a puncher than a kicker. Weak spot is his head, the rest of him won't even feel my hits. He's big, so he's not fast. I can move faster than him, probably have to dodge most of his attacks. If only I could-_

Too late. The bell chimed.

Cato hurled himself at me. I dodged swiftly. He looked vaguely shocked for a second, but quickly launched his second attack. I dodged again.

This was going better than expected. At least I hadn't been sent flying out of the ring. Yet.

Cato edged closer and attempted a punch. I ducked. As he registered his shock, I landed a kick squarely on his chest before dodging his next punch.

This was how the match continued. He would attempt a strike which I would quickly dodge, occasionally allowing me to retaliate without doing him much damage at all. We edged around the ring, slowly tiring each other out. After a minute in the ring, there was no clear winner.

But then the scales tipped.

"CLOVE! What is going on here?"

Shite. I recognized that voice anywhere. It looked like Madelaine, my trainer, had decided to pay a visit to the _Boys Under 10 _Skill Class.

"Enobaria! Stop this match at once! Clove is just a girl!"

Again I felt anger brewing inside me, pumping adrenaline in my blood. I wanted to prove myself; I wasn't just a girl.

But it was too late. I had allowed my mind to wander long enough for Cato to land a punch in my rib cage. He sent me flying backwards, my heels almost touching the white edges of the ring.

He zoned in on me and for a second I felt terrified. The feelings of shame and disappointment of my imminent defeat washed over me and I braced myself to take the blow that would no doubt leave me with broken bones.

I allowed myself to meet his intense gaze, subconsciously admiring the ferocity of his spirit.

He hesitated.

It was almost as if there was an invisible wall between us. His clenched fist hovered in this air between us, frozen in motion. I watched his eyes, calculative, as if he was weighing his options. Then he looked at Madelaine and sucked in his breath.

I watched in incredulity as he let his fist drop and backed away from my braced form. With slow, calculated steps, he walked out of the ring and did not stop until he walked out of the centre and out of my sight.

"Well, well, it looks like we have a winner."

Enobaria's statement brought me out of my trance. She was right; I had won.

Cato had let me win.

**Thank you for reading! (: **

**This is my first Clato and I must say, I really enjoyed writing it. More chapters to come, so stay tuned, dear reader! **

**Also, please review! It would make me extremely happy! **


	2. Chapter 2: Soldiers

I hated Madelaine. The way she talked to me like I was a child, the way she fussed over me when I picked up my knives, the way she was insisting to Enobaria that I could not possibly stay in the boys skill class.

"Madelaine, I want to be here, _please_."

I knew that Enobaria was getting impatient with Madelaine's resistance and it occurred to me that she was unstable enough to completely disregard our agreement in a fit of annoyance.

"Nonsense, Clove. You're only 9, for goodness sake! And you, Enobaria, treating these young boys like they're soldiers!"

"My techniques produce results, Maddy," Enobaria replied coolly, regarding her nails with interest. "And may I remind you that Clove came to _me_. Obviously there's something to be desired in the way you train your students."

Madelaine turned pink. "At least I keep them safe," she spat under her breath.

"The question here," Enobaria said, meeting Madelaine's eyes with a cold gaze, as if in a challenge, "is what Clove wants. Safety," she smiled then, saying the word as if it was nothing but a joke, "or _success_."

_Success. Success. Success. That's what I want. _

I looked at Madelaine beseechingly. Surely she knew that I was not the average career, that I needed more from my trainings than she could ever offer me. Enobaria could help me.

Madelaine's mouth flattened into a thin line, her expression unreadable.

"Very well. I hope you make it to the Games, Clove."

As she walked off in steady strides, her petite form shrinking into the distance, I wondered if there was more to Madelaine than meets the eye.

* * *

I couldn't sleep that night. On the surface, it wasn't particularly different from any other in the facility. My room was small and I had not taken the time to furnish it in any way other than the singular poster of Enobaria and other past District 2 victors adorning my wall. We did not share rooms in the facility; somehow the trainers knew that no one would hesitate to stab a potential opponent in their sleep.

I thought about the day's events. Everything had happened in such a blur. First the intimidating conversation with Enobaria, then my spontaneous request to join her, then the fight with Cato, then-

Cato_._

I had almost forgotten about that. What had happened in there? His standing in his class wouldn't do well considering everyone now knew that a girl had taken him down. But then again, surely they would have noticed that he let me win. Surely Enobaria would have noticed. And yet, she took me in, without even a mention of Cato's odd behavior in the ring.

Perhaps he took pity on me. Maybe he saw something in my eyes-maybe he realized that the both of us were not that different and he was _helping _me.

Maybe not. I would have killed him in a second if I could.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, I felt as though my life was finally beginning. No more playfights or practice dummies. It was time for the real games to begin.

I put on my training gear-a sleek black full-body suit that allowed me to hide my knives along my forearms and calves. It made me feel dangerous and I hoped that it would give me the confidence to take on whatever Enobaria was going to throw at me.

I skipped breakfast, knowing that I would have to make the choice of sitting with the girls' skill class or the boys' one, a decision I was not ready to make. I deliberately took the longer route to Enobaria's training centre so that I would not have to pass by my old one and endure Madelaine's contemptuous gaze. In her eyes, I was condemned and she seemed determined to substitute her motherly self with a cold, calculating one whenever I crossed her path.

When I entered the centre, it occurred to me that everyone else was still at breakfast and official training would not start in an hour.

I let my eyes skim over the unfamiliar equipment before I become aware of a rhythmic pounding coming from a distant corner of the centre. The low thudding sound set me on edge and I swerved to identify the source of the racket.

A lone figure was standing at one of the stations, repeatedly sending blows to the bright orange punching bag suspended from the ceiling. He was doing this with very much force indeed, sending the sack, no doubt dead heavy with sand, swinging in a controlled downwards arc. I did not even need to look twice, somehow I knew exactly who this was.

Cato.

I realized he had yet to spot me and contemplated making a run for the door. For some reason, he made my stomach churn. Fear was not a sensation I was particularly acquainted with, and yet something about being alone with Cato, especially after yesterday's pseudo-hostile encounter, made me blanch.

By some sheer force of will, I stayed rooted to the spot. Something in me told me not to be a coward. Cato was here and so were the long-awaited answers to the questions that had kept me up all night. The events of yesterday's fight played ruthlessly in my head, as if taunting me, filling my head with doubts and queries that only Cato could absolve.

For a moment, I simply ran my fingers across my forearms, feeling the hard, unforgiving blades of my knives, concealed and ready for a fight. As if reassured, I walked over to where Cato stood, trying my best to keep my footsteps light so as not to betray premature news of my presence.

When I got close enough, I stopped and sucked in my breath.

"Hi," I breathed.

He stopped punching. For a second I thought he was going to turn around and start punching me instead.

Both of us stood in silence punctuated only by his steady, low breaths. He still had not turned to face me, which made me mildly relieved, for the anxious lines crossing my face would have immediately exposed my worry and fear to him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

It wasn't the worst thing he could have said, and yet I found myself disappointed by his hostility.

"The fight," I rushed the words out breathlessly, "I-I won the fight. And Enobaria and I had a deal that if that happened, then she would let me-"

"No," he cut me off briskly, "what I meant was, what are you doing here now? Training doesn't start until eight, if you hadn't noticed."

"Oh."

I blinked at him, trying to digest the words. So he wasn't unhappy that I won the fight?

_Of course not, Clove. Don't be stupid. He _let _you win, remember? _

"Well?"

"I guess I just wanted to check the place out," I replied truthfully, feeling much less on edge than I had been moments ago.

He turned to face me. I was suddenly acutely aware of the beads of sweat tracing his jaw line and lacing his golden hair. He studied me for a moment before slowly removing his knuckle guards and placing them in his pocket.

"Come on," he said, walking in the direction of the next station, "I'll show you around."

* * *

For the next few months, I underwent Enobaria's rigid training programme.

If I had expected to get any extra consideration because I was a girl, I was sorely wrong. On the contrary, Enobaria had taken to mocking me every time I showed any sign of feminine weakness, calling me degrading names and making sarcastic, biting remarks. She made it clear that the only way I could earn her favour was by fighting like a boy, training like a boy, learning like a boy, and eventually doing all those same things better than a boy.

She took pleasure in scheduling regular fights for me against the other students and it eventually became some sort of honour for the other boys to be chosen for a fight with me, because it meant that she was pleased with them and thought them good enough to beat me up in some spectacular manner. For some reason, there were no rematches between Cato and I. It was as if Enobaria had completely taken him out of the running, even though Cato was easily the strongest and best fighter in the whole class.

It eventually became apparent to me that I needed to make some friends in the class. After the news of my transfer spread, my old friends had quickly made it clear to me that they either detested me from the start and were only being nice to me so I wouldn't kill them, or had started to detest me because Madelaine had been made very moody and unstable for a few weeks following my transfer. Truth be told, I was hurt, but more so because I regretted not killing them when I had the chance.

At first, the boys were cold and indifferent to me. They snickered at Enobaria's humiliating nicknames for me and I knew they made snide comments about me when they thought I wasn't in earshot. For some obscure reason, the fights Enobaria scheduled actually seemed to help. After a fight, my opponent would warm up to me, as if our minutes in the ring had helped us forge some deep, impenetrable bond. In a way, it had. Even those who hadn't faced me in combat had begun to admire my knife skills and agility; after all, everyone was made to watch the fights.

Everyone except Cato, of course. He was never present for a single one of my fights. I didn't dare to ask Enobaria about it, for fear of her raised eyebrows and penetrating gaze. After the first day at the centre, Cato had become a mystery to me. He had brought me around the various stations that morning, acting as if our fight had never happened. Then Enobaria entered and upon seeing us together, sent me off to practice on my own and brought Cato to a corner to speak to him. When he came back, his face was rigid and emotionless and he took to ignoring my existence for good.

I often thought about what Enobaria could have possibly told Cato to make him avoid me like the plague. He didn't seem to hate me so much that morning, and yet now it seemed it was all he could do. It frustrated and perplexed me but I knew Enobaria did what she wanted and so I left the matter alone.

But then I turned 10 and everything changed.

* * *

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